Lisgoe's Stress Relief
by TaffyButt
Summary: After taking up a cleaning position for Joseph Nigel Lisgoe, you develop a little crush on him, and you;re surprised to find that he feels the same way.


From outside the trailer you could hear him talking to himself, ranging from softer mumbles to much louder, frustrated strains of curse words.

As you put your hand on the rusty handle of the door, you hear him slam his fist down onto the desk. Jerking back, your breath hitches, heart leaping into your throat. It sounded like something had broken.

Almost instantly, you regret taking up the position as cleaner. There aren't many jobs around, it is a small village after all, but there's probably safer places to work…and safer people to work for. But then again, you felt sorry for him. No one had applied to the position, and from what you knew, he was a pretty lonely guy. Although, there was a fairly obvious reason for this.

Every day for the past four weeks you've been working there, there's been some sort of anger induced parade around the trailer, smashing everything in sight. Still, it was hard to leave…you'd become rather…attracted to him. Maybe it was that age old cliché that maybe you'd change him, and maybe he'd see something in you and turn good for love. He was very lonely after all. His family didn't live in town anymore, if he had family anyway. He wasn't one for talking about personal things, let alone talking at all. He never ever left to go visit anyone either. Every day, even on the weekends, he was there in the trailer, and that meant you were there too.

You remember on a tea break one day when you had asked Glen and Barry Baggs, the brothers who caused Lisgoe a considerable amount of stress, about any family, and they had joked about him being so nasty that he brought his lonliiness upon himself. Then they suggested he might never even have been with a woman, which might have been a joke, but given his attitude towards you, you could see how there might be truth in it.

He was handsome though, in a sort of…bad boy way, with his dark, slicked back hair and his smug, slightly arrogant grin. He wasn't tall, but he was built well, and he had strong, broad shoulders. You'd seen him laugh once, at a comic in the newspaper and he looked so sweet and delightful…that might have been the moment that secured your pathetically schoolgirl crush.

But beyond the desire to see him change into a pleasant, well-turned out man, there was a darker desire for the raw passion he displayed when he was in a fit of rage. That was the sexiest thing of all.

You walk into the trailer in silence, eyes looking only at the ground. He was sitting at desk head in hands. You worked up the courage to look up, seeing the state of the place. The light on the ceiling had smashed, someone's shoes were lying around and there were quavers all over the floor. Before you even had time to consider what you were doing you spoke out loud.

"Afternoon, Joe."

"Mr FUCKING Lisgoe, if you please!" He swiped a load of paper off the desk, before getting up and walking to the filing cabinet, where he began to frantically flick through the papers in there. There was an awkward silence, and while you were sure that you might be endangering your life by speaking you chose to break it.

"Rough day?" Well done, you thought to yourself. Not only have you spoke out of terms, you sounded like a right bloody sarcastic tit in the process.

"What do you fucking care!" He stopped flicking for a moment, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. Before you could answer with a myriad of apologies, he spoke again, spitting the words out.

"Fucking waste of space brothers can't do anything right, bloody fat bastard and that lanky prick, they're both as bad as each other!"

He walked away from the cabinet, folder in hand. He threw it into the bin next to the desk and then proceeded to kick the bin against the wall, scattering its contents over the floor.

You bend down to pick it up, but he speaks again.

"Don't bother picking that shite up just now!"

"Someone has to, Mr Lisgoe. Someone has to make sure this place looks vaguely presentable for your clients, and you evidently can't do that."

You can hear him walking up behind you, but you continue to pick up the rubbish, doing your job. He grabs your arm and pulls you up to face him. The anger and force behind the action scares you a bit, but you don't pull away. Instead you just stand, staring at him.

He's not tall but he seems it right now, he's powerful and forceful, and very dangerous, something you forget quite a lot. He makes men much bigger than him feel minute in his presence, you've got no hope. Despite the aggressive manner in which he has just treated you, staring into his eyes sparks up your feelings for his bad side. Fear and arousal fight themselves inside of you as you stand in front of him, exposed, unsure whether in his rage he'll lash out and do something he'll regret.

He leans in and you flinch slightly, but he's quicker and grabs your chin, turning you towards him. As he stares into your eyes, his hand moves from your chin slightly and he grazes his thumb over your bottom lip, softly at first and then putting too much pressure on it so your teeth are cutting into it. His hand grips the hair at the back of your head harshly, holding you in place as he leans in for a kiss. Although that's not really the word for what's happening. This is just clumsy fumbling, angrily forcing his way into your mouth, growling as he does it. He bites down on your lip, hands tangled in your hair again. As you moan, he releases you with a grunt, pushing you back against the desk to look you up and down.

His hands move fast towards your hips, pulling you forward against him, where you can feel the impressive bulge pressing against the front of his dark grey trousers. You don't get the time to linger on the thought though, because you're pushed down against the desk, barely managing to grab a hold to balance before your hands are flung up over your head. Out of confusion you try to speak.

"Joseph…"

You barely get the whole word out before his hands slide down your arms, to your neck, where they linger slightly before moving over your breasts briefly on their way down to your trousers. His calloused fingers linger over the button before he pops it and as he fingers the zip he looks at you.

"Don't just stand there, take off your shirt!" You oblige, quickly, the adrenaline taking over. Clearly, all of that time spent prancing around the trailer in ridiculously slaggy clothes hadn't been wasted after all. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, and you were glad that he wasn't being gentle about it. This was the angry and destructive side of him you lusted after.

He lifted your legs up, hands slowly drifting along your thighs. He pulls down your trousers in a swift motion, knocking you off balance. He brings his arm around your now bare waist to hold you and pushes you back up so you're lying on the table. He licks his lips as he looks you over, eyes moving slowly up and down, lingering.

Once again, he moves in closer to you, diving down into your neck to run his tongue all the way up to the back of your ear, swirling round to the front to nibble on the shell gently. You move your hands to his trousers, unbuckling the dented, cheap belt and slide them down, freeing his huge, bobbing cock. As he continues to work your neck, you place your hands on his abdomen, running them up to his chest before undoing the buttons slowly

As you undo the first two, he drops his hand over your pants, rubbing in slow circles, then suddenly pulling them to the side and pushing two fingers in. It's forceful and unexpected, so your hands cling to the shirt and pull it open, one of the buttons bursting off in the process.

He stops, and you fear that you've ruined the moment. Maybe it was one of his good shirts. Fuck. He stands looking down at it, seemingly shocked by your sudden passion. Just as your lip begins to quiver in fear of ruining this opportunity he looks back with his smarmy grin, biting down on his pouty lip.

Slowly, he moves closer to you once again without breaking eye contact. It's impossible to look away from him as you feel the touch, then the full penetration of him inside of you. He moves slowly at first, which shocks you. As he moves in more gracefully than expected, he leaves kisses up your stomach and on your chest, settling on your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple, as he moves in slowly and back out again. The slow pace is such a contrast, a peaceful moment in the otherwise stress and anger-driven flurry of a few minutes ago.

He kisses further and further up, head resting against yours and breathing into your ear. As he rests in this position, you notice his tattoo, that rather large bit of ink that just completes his look and in the spur of the moment you take your teeth to it, biting soft, then hard and licking gently as a form of apology. As you sink your teeth in over and over again you can hear his breath growing in your ear, hot and heavy against your cheek, grunting when you put more pressure, moaning as you roll your tongue along his throat.

When you graze your teeth along his Adam's apple he yells out loud.

"F-u-uuuck!"

With this exclamation, he slams himself into you, the slap echoing around the trailer. His mouth covers yours, stifling your scream. He slams again, slightly harder this time, his speed increasing. When he pulls out, he stops for a few seconds, and you open your eyes to see what's wrong. He holds your gaze, and pushes himself in again, forcing you to close your eyes.

"No…keep looking at me." When you look up at him, he looks so desperate, so filled with lust. You force your eyes open through the pleasure and pain as his speed increases and he rocks expertly back and forth, clearly not the first time he's done it, unless of course he's spent so much time along perfecting the art in case the day would come when someone was interested in him.

It doesn't take long for him to bring you to a scream, shuddering through the waves of your orgasm. As he brings himself to climax, his eyes rolls into the back of his head and he grunts before moaning out your name, in a breathy, hitched manner. You didn't think he even remembered your name.

As he pulled out for the last time you began to move over, expecting him to pull up his trousers, sort his hair and get back to work after throwing an extra £20 to you on your way out. But before you could move to the side to collect your trousers, he put his hands around your hips once more and kissed your forehead, brushing the hair behind your ear and standing away from you. He held his eyes down as he handed you your shirt with a smile and an embarrassed red face.


End file.
